


Violent Delights

by theorchardofbones



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood, Dubious Ethics, I did not just make that up, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Obsession, Stalker, Trauma-Induced Arousal, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 10:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorchardofbones/pseuds/theorchardofbones
Summary: It's been an unbearable summer and tempers are flaring; a week after the attack on Prince Noctis that left his shield out of commission, Nyx Ulric has been assigned to the prince on personal detail.When things go wrong, he has to rely on quick talking — and quicker reflexes — to keep his charge safe.





	Violent Delights

**Author's Note:**

> For Anon on Tumblr, who sent the following: _Hello! Love your writing! Do you take prompts? If so, loved your angst prompt list. ;) Prompt: Number 4 (“I will kill anyone that looks at you the way i look at you.”) for Nyxnoct. :)_
> 
> I didn't use the exact quote (I never do because I suck) but it proved the perfect jumping off point to get the ball rolling.

The glow of the street light dances in the man’s wild eyes, glints on his razor-sharp grin, devoid of humour.

‘Don’t come any closer,’ he says. ‘I’ll fuckin’ do it!’

He sprays spit as he speaks, and as if to prove his words he digs the point of his knife into the soft, vulnerable flesh underneath the prince’s jaw. Noctis winces, but he doesn’t cry out.

Nyx has no doubt the guy means what he says. He just needs to get close enough to disarm him before he can do any damage.

It’s been a long, hot summer — sticky and humid, temperatures well into the nighties. Crime’s been soaring at a record high. Sometimes it feels like it’s building to something, to a breaking point. Maybe tonight’s the night it’s all wound so tight it finally snaps.

‘Easy, now,’ Nyx says calmly. ‘Nobody needs to get hurt.’

He has one hand up, palm outwards, gesturing for the man to relax; the other, he uses to reach slowly downward behind him. He’ll summon one of his kukris, once his hand is hidden. No sudden moves, that’s the order of the day — and it’s been working, but the guy’s still antsy, his gaze flashing wildly from Nyx’s face, to his left hand where he holds it up, to the entrance of the alleyway over Nyx’s shoulder.

They’d thought it was a joke, at first. Some sick prank at the crown’s expense.

 _You’re mine,_ the letter had said. _I was made for you._

They started taking it seriously right around the time the letters started showing up in Noct’s apartment mailbox.

The guy’s arm — the one not currently jabbing the blade of the utility knife into the prince’s neck — clings to Noctis almost lovingly, his hand clutching at Noct’s shirt. When Nyx takes a half-step forward, his eyes on the blade, he sees the man’s knuckles go white with the effort of pushing it upwards and into Noct’s skin.

All it would take is one sideways movement, one drag of the blade across Noct’s exposed throat. It might not kill him, at least not right away, but Nyx can’t bank on the damage not being substantial.

 _You understand me,_ the letter said, _better than anybody else._

‘Buddy,’ Nyx says, levelly. ‘Just put the knife down, and we’ll talk.’

The attacker bursts into laughter, the sound maniacal and chilling. Where Noctis stands, clutched in his embrace, his blue eyes squeeze shut in fear.

‘Talk?’ the man spits. ‘No, no — I know you. You won’t let me make it out of here alive.’

Guy’s got a point — any of the glaives would do the same, but for Nyx it feels personal. He doesn’t know whether it was a mistake assigning him to the prince’s detail, or whether Drautos was banking on it.

This isn’t the first attack. Won’t be the last, if Noct makes it out of here unscathed. Just last week, some drunken asshole had jumped the prince, done a number on his shield in the process. Amicitia had barely walked away alive, with a nasty scar on his face to serve as a souvenir; the attacker hadn’t made it more than ten feet before he’d been cut down.

This is nothing new, Nyx tells himself. They’ve seen worse threats.

So why is it now that dread floods his veins, cold and insidious?

‘Can’t figure out what you want if we don’t talk,’ Nyx says. He glances at Noct; the prince is paler than he’d like, his mouth slack as though he’s in shock. ‘Let’s talk, all right?’

The guy’s eyes dart, once more, to the opening of the alleyway. Whether he’s sizing up his chances of escaping or waiting to see if Nyx called backup, Nyx is sure his distraction will be the only chance he has to take him out. Just has to get close enough, first.

 _I love you,_ the letter said. _I want you. I need you. I’ll kill anybody who tries to keep us apart._

‘No talking,’ the guy snaps. ‘I’m done talking.’

He’s backing up now, slowly — that’s bad. There’s just a locked gate behind him, a chain link fence; when he backs up against it with nowhere to go, he’ll lash out like a cornered animal. Like he has nothing left to lose.

Nyx doesn’t think he can get between them in time to stop that from happening.

 _Everybody thinks they know you,_ the letter said, _but they don’t. Not like I know you._

The attacker presses his lips to Noct’s ear, frantically whispering to him. Whatever he’s saying, it’s too low for Nyx to hear; he can see how Noctis’s face blanches in response well enough, though.

This is the guy — the one stalking Noctis for months now, the one sending twisted gifts to the Citadel as ‘tributes’. He can remember clearly what the last letter had said, because Drautos had shown it to him personally.

_If I can’t have you, nobody can._

There’s a clink of metal as the guy hits the chain link.

Nyx doesn’t have much time. The guy’s on a short tether, and he just ran out of rope.

‘It’s okay,’ he says. He channels all the calm he can muster — tries not to picture Noct lying there bleeding out in the dust, his only company in his dying moments the man who killed him and the glaive who failed him. ‘We just wanna settle this. Right, Highness?’

Carefully, Noctis cracks open one eye and peeks at Nyx. Subtly, Nyx gives a reassuring nod.

‘You’re special,’ Nyx says. ‘You and Prince Noctis, you got a bond.’

His eyes dart toward the guy, where he sees his resolve flicker just a little. That’s good — he can take advantage of that.

‘You know him, don’t you?’ Nyx wheedles. ‘Better than all those phonies at court. You really know him, right?’

Slowly, the guy nods. His arm — the one wrapped across Noct’s shoulder, where he digs the edge of his blade into Noctis’s throat — sags slightly.

‘I get it,’ Nyx says. ‘When you love somebody, nothing else matters. It’s like the whole world doesn’t exist any more.’

Slowly, carefully, he edges forward. Inches his hand a little further behind his back.

‘You feel like your heart’s being cut out of your chest when you’re apart,’ he says. ‘Like you can’t breathe until you hold them in your arms again.’

Another little step forward; the attacker doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. Nyx flicks a glance toward Noctis, he inclines his head just slightly in understanding.

‘I—’ Noct stammers, his voice coming out reed-thin and tremulous. ‘I could be with you.’

Nyx knows, when the guy’s eyes go wide, that they’ve got him. This is what he wants, after all — _If I can’t have you, nobody can._ So let the asshole think he’s got Noct; let him believe it, and gut him while his guard is down.

‘That’s right,’ Nyx says, swallowing the bile that rises in his throat at the mere thought of it. ‘All you want is Noct, right? To walk off into the sunset together? I won’t stand in your way.’

The guy swallows so hard Nyx can hear it from feet away. His hand’s starting to shake now, the utility knife juddering in his grasp.

‘Would you—’ the guy blurts, cutting off as his voice hits a hysterical peak. ‘Would you come with me?’

Even though Nyx can see how much it pains him, the prince slowly and deliberately nods his head. The sight of it — of the prince playing along, even though it’s all a lie to save himself — sends disgust rolling down into the pit of Nyx’s stomach, oily and bitter.

He doesn’t have to tolerate it very long, thank the Astrals — he waits for his window, and he seizes it as soon as the guy lowers the hand holding the blade, just enough to expose his shoulder.

The kukri forms in Nyx’s hand with a crackle of electricity, and he flings it with a dead-eye aim. He’s already warping before the blade hits him; he reappears as it drives itself into the meat of the guy’s shoulder, and Nyx yanks it free, twisting with a dancer’s grace behind the attacker and dragging the kukri across his throat.

It’s over so quickly — the guy lets go of Noct, futilely clutching at his neck as blood spurts out, and he’s buckling to his knees as the life rushes out of him.

Nyx doesn’t even wait for him to hit the ground before he grabs Noct, pulling him around so they’re face to face, hands frantically going to his throat to check that he’s not hurt. Blood splatters the prince’s skin in patterns both beautiful and macabre; miraculously, none of it is his own.

Relief floods Nyx, turns his limbs to jelly, but he manages to hold it together. _Got to,_ for the prince’s sake — the prince, who’s trembling now, so badly he looks like he can barely keep upright. Nyx slings an arm around his waist before he can fall and Noct sinks into it, a bundle of frayed nerves.

He’s shaking in Nyx’s arms, grabbing onto him for dear life — when he lifts his eyes to meet Nyx’s there’s something wild about them, something feral and uninhibited. Nyx opens his mouth to console the prince, but before he can get out the words Noct’s fingertips find his jaw, angling it downwards and pulling him into a hungry kiss.

Something plucks at the back of Nyx’s mind — something that screams _wrong_ — but he’s caught so far off guard he can’t even fathom what to do. By the time he registers what’s happening, Noct’s hand is between his legs.

This isn’t right, Nyx tells himself, even as Noct’s fumbling fingers manage to pull open his fly, even as he delves his hand in and grips him through his boxer-briefs.

The prince looks up to him, _idolises_ him even — many a day has been spent fondly training together, trying to out-warp each other, playing pranks on each other that would have Cor skinning them alive if he saw them flouting safety protocols so baldly.

Has he thought about it before? Sure. But to think he’d _ever—_

He’s not thinking much now, though, not as Noctis diligently tugs him out of the slot in his boxers and strokes him all the way to hardness — not that it takes much, godsdamnit, with that fire in Noct’s eyes as he dives in for another kiss, hot and eager and _desperate._

Not a foot away, the would-be attacker is lifeless on the ground, and there’s blood on Noct’s skin, blood in his mouth, and his hand’s slick with sweat as he tugs it methodically up and down Nyx’s length.

This shouldn’t feel so good, shouldn’t be happening _at all,_ but Nyx seems frozen in place as Noct strokes him, as his tongue snakes into his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this, idly or not; be lying if he said it hadn’t kept him awake at night after a particularly tense sparring session together, when their fighting had been like the choreography of lovemaking.

 _Lovemaking._ There’s a funny thought. The crown prince of Lucis is jerking him off in an alleyway with a body beside them — still warm — and he’s thinking about _lovemaking._

Noct snaps him out of his head and back to the moment with a sharp nip on his lip; it’s hard enough to draw blood, and as Nyx gives a gasp of pain into Noct’s mouth it only seems to spur him on, only seems to set the prince grinding up against him, grinding his erection into Nyx’s hip.

It feels so fucking _good,_ so sublimely _perfect,_ and even though Nyx knows they’ll both regret this in the comedown he doesn’t care, doesn’t care, doesn’t—

He comes with a choked sound, muffled by Noct’s lips; the prince rides him through it with his fist, and his grinding never lets up, not until Noct’s dropping his head against Nyx’s shoulder and shuddering and twitching, little whimpers of pleasure slipping from his mouth.

They stay like that a while, heaving in each other’s arms. When it seems at last that Nyx’s limbs belong to him once more, he lifts his hand and delves it into Noct’s hair, holding him close as the quivering dies down.

Noct doesn’t push him away, doesn’t run. He stays there, huddled close to Nyx, until he’s finally still.

**Author's Note:**

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